


I Could Get Used To You

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has a new addiction; Ron is happy to deal to him.  But what is it, really, that they're doing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Get Used To You

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings / Content: Language, angst, fluff, humour, eighth-year fic.

Harry couldn't exactly pinpoint where it had started, but once he'd crept into Ron's bed the first time, stopping had seemed an impossible ask.  
  
Ron was beautifully warm and cuddling into him was like settling in sheets which were pre-heated. To feel that heavy and gentle arm curling around him was akin to taking a sleeping draught. Harry loved lying on his side, tucked into the side of Ron's body with his head resting on his freckled shoulder. He tended to put his arm over Ron's belly and hold on for dear life.  
  
Until, that is, the alarm spell woke them both so that Harry could crawl back to his own four-poster bed and pretend that he'd never been in Ron's at all. The last few nights they'd parted with a soft smudge of a kiss, lingering yet impossibly quick. Harry had found it difficult to forget and everything was suffering as a result. Ron seemed completely normal during the day – calm and collected, going about the school with his usual air of boredom and nonchalance.  
  
As far as they knew, they were the only year to ever have been granted the privilege of an eighth year of study at Hogwarts. It didn't really count given that he, Ron and Hermione had actively decided not to return to the school for their seventh year, but they'd been given the chance to attend to complete their NEWTs. Ron hadn't wanted to. He'd wanted to choose the life which let him have a lie in every morning and to not have to comply with a school timetable ever again. But Hermione had worn him down and when Harry admitted he didn't want to return without Ron, Ron had immediately agreed to pack his bags and return to Scotland with them without further discussion.  
  
Harry hated seeing Ron so cramped and unhappy, but nevertheless he was relieved that he was there. Not least because it meant that he got some sleep at night which, as he'd found out one night when Ron had been kept in the hospital wing after a nasty fall down the Astronomy Tower steps, was hard to achieve _without_ the redhead.  
  
He hadn't said as much, but Harry regarded him as his own personal teddy bear. The Dursleys had never seen fit to give him such comforts as a child, therefore as an adult he wasn't surprised that he found Ron's presence so addicting and consolatory.  
  
Which was why, as he silenced the alarm spell, Harry felt heaviness on his chest. It was time to go back to his own bed and leave Ron, who hadn't yet woken up.  
  
He chanced to press a kiss to his sleeping friend's shoulder and climbed out of the four poster. Their dormitory was just beginning to lighten. They shared with Neville and Dean, who'd decided they too wanted to sit their exams, but Seamus declared he was done with learning and wasn't returning. So the fifth bed had been removed and it really didn't feel right at all.  
  
Drifting to the window, the grounds were still and murky as day crept up on them. There was an unusual hush about the building following the repairs and the very recent brutal events which had happened there. It didn't feel like home and that unsettled him, because Hogwarts always had.  
  
He knew there was no point in getting in his own bed – he wouldn't sleep. Instead he dressed quickly and quietly and grabbed his broom. An early morning fly might help him to clear the cobwebs and make him feel a bit more normal. The castle was as still as the grounds as he descended through it. A few knights' heads turned towards him – nobody was yet used to the freedom and relative safety the end of the war had given them. In fact the very idea of him leaving the castle unaccompanied would have been abhorrent to some.  
  
Harry was surrounded by people all day whether he wanted to be or not and he only ever got the nights to be with Ron by himself. He would take the time to fly alone.  
  
***  
  
He was late and starving when he rolled into their double Transfiguration lesson. He'd lost track of time up in the air and had to shove his broomstick under the desk. He couldn't see himself but he could guess that his hair was on end from the strong breeze and he was more than a bit frozen.  
  
Ron stared at him as he settled, then reached forward and jotted something on the edge of his exercise book:  
  
 _ **'You all right?'**_  
  
Harry made sure McGonagall was engrossed in writing something complicated on the board before he dipped his quill in Ron's ink pot and wrote back.  
  
 _'Yeah. Just an early morning fly. Couldn't sleep.'_  
  
 _ **'I missed you.'**_  
  
Harry didn't write back immediately. He pretended to listen to what McGonagall was saying and spared a glance at Hermione, whose desk was cluttered with reams of parchment as she hurriedly wrote down everything that was being said. Some things never changed.  
  
 _'I missed you more.'_ He scribbled back finally.  
  
He saw Ron smile out of the corner of his eye. The redhead surreptitiously turned to a fresh page in his book and rested his chin on his hand. Harry shifted in his seat and tried to get comfortable, but his stomach gave a massive rumble. He wished he'd not missed breakfast.  
  
It took him a while to realise that Ron was rummaging for something in his bag and to Harry's surprise, he straightened and shoved a chocolate bar at him under the table. Harry took it and scratched something else out for Ron:  
  
 _'Have I told you lately that I love you?'_  
  
The second he dotted the question mark Harry wanted to take it back. He looked at Ron and saw him blushing. The only thing to do was to open the chocolate bar and start eating it. That or combust.  
  
 _ **'No. But I'd like it if you said it again.'**_  
  
Harry nearly fell off his chair when Ron's hand unblocked the untidy scrawl. The more he stared at the words the hotter he became. The chocolate in his mouth was suddenly too rich and sticky and he needed a drink. It was inevitable when he started to cough.  
  
“Potter, do try and die quietly, won't you?” McGonagall asked from the front. “Go and get yourself a drink.”  
  
Harry didn't mean to make as much noise as he did when he stood up, but his chair screeched over the flagstones and his broom slipped and clattered to the floor. One look at McGonagall showed him she was one nerve away from exploding.  
  
“Weasley, try and direct Potter to the nearest boys' toilet. Quietly.”  
  
Eyes streaming, Harry stepped out into the corridor and set off for the loo at the end. He heard Ron following at speed and choked harder when Ron threw himself forward to drag the door open for him  
  
If he wasn't mistaken, Ron was trying to be gentlemanly. For him.  
  
That made Harry's insides squirm in a way he was very glad nobody else was privy to. He headed for the water fountain. He bent his head and tried not to cough as the cold water filled his mouth.  
  
“I didn't mean for you to choke yourself, mate,” Ron said ruefully.  
  
He sauntered over, arms folded over his chest, and leant against the windowsill.  
  
“You say shit like that and expect me not to choke on it?”  
“You started it!” Ron pointed out, but he was smiling.  
  
Harry took a few more gulps of water and then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. He looked out towards Hagrid's Hut and the forest. The scene had brightened considerably since he'd looked out after crawling out of Ron's bed.  
  
 _He wants me to love him._  
  
He knew there would be no great drama over that. He already loved Ron in a multitude of ways and there would always be room for more.  
  
“Look at you off with the faeries,” said Ron.  
“Hmm?” Harry hummed in response. “I'm not. I'm just thinking.”  
“Well don't injure yourself, for Merlin's sake.”  
  
Chuckling, Harry turned and headed directly for the handsome figure Ron cut lounging against the wall. He emulated the closeness they shared in the dark of night by wrapping his arms around Ron's waist and stepping right into his personal space.  
  
“Harry...”  
“Shh.” He kissed the tip of Ron's nose. “I don't want to just kiss you in the middle of the night. I want to kiss you everywhere. I want to be with you everywhere.”  
  
Ron sighed and put his own arms around Harry's back.  
  
“Is... that not what you want?” Harry suddenly felt nauseous.  
  
He and Ron had been sharing a bed for weeks, but they'd never discussed them in the cold light of day. Perhaps he'd moved too quickly. Perhaps he'd completely overstepped the mark.  
  
“I'm not sure what...” Ron hung his head. “I'm not sure what this is, Harry? Or what I feel.”  
“Do you like it?” Harry blurted, hating how desperate he sounded. “Do you like what we... how we...” He grimaced at his inadequacy. “Because if you don't I'll just stop coming over at night.”  
“No, don't do that.” Ron still wouldn't look at him. “I like it, Harry, I do. Its like... I go through all day feeling out of place and miserable about being here, but when you get in my bed and cuddle up to me, I just relax and everything feels so much better. You. You make me feel better, Harry. And I miss you when the alarm goes off and you disappear.”  
  
It was Harry's turn to blush.  
  
“But... with everything... I don't know what I am. Maybe I'm not anything, or I'm everything. I get this funny feeling in my belly when you're near me. What _is_ that? Does it make me gay? I haven't got a fucking clue. And then it's so bloody complicated... if we were to... y'know... there's the issue of my sister and Hermione to contend with. Both of us are technically involved with other women. I don't think they'd take kindly to us shacking up together trying to play happy families.”  
  
Harry felt chastened. He'd thought about everything Ron had mentioned, but he'd preferred to ignore it in favour of revelling in the joy that sleeping alongside his best friend had given him.  
  
“D'you think we could?” he asked finally. “Be happy together?”  
“I don't know.” Ron shrugged. “I don't. It's all so... fucked up.”  
  
Harry nodded and shivered in the coolness of the bathroom.  
  
“We should get back,” he whispered finally. “Otherwise she'll come looking and I don't want to explain... well, this.”  
  
He made to pull away but Ron, perhaps sensing what disappointment his musing had created, pulled him close and properly kissed him. Harry felt like an idiot for the way he simply relaxed into the taller man's hold.  
  
“We'll talk later?” Ron implored. “I don't want this to get awkward. I... I love you, Harry.”  
  
Dizzy, Harry nodded, and led the way from the bathroom, holding on to Ron's hand for as long as they could not be seen by others.  
  
***  
He was beyond distracted after that. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate the idea of being with Ron in a way beyond their secret trysts at night completely consumed him. Eight hours had passed since they'd returned to Transfiguration and since then he had imagined several scenarios, all of which seemed to end with a happily ever and lots of fantastic sex.  
  
Harry personally had been thinking of what it would be like to go further with Ron for a good while – even before they'd started parting with kisses. He'd been too nervous to say anything, though, and Ron hadn't given any indication that he was thinking the same thing.  
  
 _Perhaps he's not._  
  
He let out a frustrated sigh and slumped back in his chair. He'd wondered if being attracted to members of the same sex meant there was less fuss and less drama, but the clenching of his gut was exactly the same sort of anxiety he'd experienced alongside his feelings for women. Plus, this was _Ron_ , so in many ways he thought it was even worse than it had been with Ginny.  
  
His sister.  
  
Harry didn't even want to begin to contemplate how that would play out. Ron already had by the sounds of things and it didn't seem a fun way to spend an evening.  
  
He was restless and waiting for the time to go for dinner. It was very odd to suddenly live and die by a timetable again. During the Horcrux hunt they'd risen and dined as they pleased – or when they could. The summer following the Battle had been heady and lackadaisical – nobody had known what to do with their freedom or how to mourn those that they loved in a world where there was no more threat. Nothing to keep them going, nothing to beat to convince themselves that their loved ones hadn't died in vain.  
  
Harry placed his attraction to Ron as having been fostered in those months. They'd spent a lot of time together, sitting in companionable silence, just being there for one another when everyone else seemed to want something from them, or to take strength from them.  
  
He'd not realised how hard it would be to cope with that. Or how he would grow to resent them for their inability to manage alone. Ron and Hermione were the only two that understood that, and Ron more than Hermione. Ron had opted to stay behind with Harry whilst Hermione went to Australia to find her parents. At the time he'd known that it had created a great fissure in their relationship but he'd not been able to really care, because he needed Ron as much as Hermione needed him. He'd felt that it was his turn to be selfish.  
  
 _And now you don't want to give him back._  
  
Ron was not 'his' to give or take – Harry knew that – but he certainly wanted him to be.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
He looked up; Ron was looking back down at him with a smirk.  
  
“What?” Harry asked, finding himself blushing again and wondering how he could turn off the blood supply to his cheeks.  
“I asked if you wanted to come with me for a... moment alone?” Ron said in a low voice. “I've got food.”  
“How have you got food?”  
“Er, I went to the kitchens and asked for it.”  
“Right. Of course.”  
  
Sometimes, he forgot that Ron was the brother of Fred and George. That he had his own 'Fred and George' streak but utilised it always to their advantage.  
  
Harry got up, feeling somewhat discombobulated. It felt like he'd been asleep for a long time.  
  
“What time is it?”  
“Just after six,” said Ron.  
“No wonder I'm starving.”  
  
He followed Ron out of the portrait hole and reached up to loosen the neck of his robes.  
  
“Where are we going?” he asked distractedly, following Ron in the wrong direction at the end of the corridor.  
“Upstairs,” Ron answered.  
“Not outside? Where, y'know, most people would go for a walk?”  
“You'll see.”  
  
Ron moved quickly and with purpose, causing Harry to jog every few steps to keep up with him. By the time they'd ascended the four floors which Ron led them up, he was panting.  
  
“Some of us are vertically challenged, you know,” he griped, massaging his chest.  
“Not my fault you're a midget,” Ron retorted immediately.  
  
Harry swiped for him but Ron dodged, swerving out of his way expertly and catching him around the waist. He pulled him close and released Harry's waist to take his face in both hands.  
  
Despite the teenaged female attention he'd received, Harry had _never_ before been mentally undressed in the way that Ron was undressing him. His eyes were so bright that it was almost comical, but Harry didn't have the breath to laugh.  
  
 _And it would crush him._  
  
Ron was suddenly panting as much as Harry was, but it had nothing to do with the climb through the castle. But his breathing eventually settled and his expression softened.  
  
“Come on,” he whispered finally. “Come and see what I found.”  
“What did you find?” Harry murmured, not really caring because he didn't want Ron to stop looking at him like that – ever.  
  
“You think this castle has shown you all its cards, all the chess pieces it possesses. But then you walk into somewhere and know you don't even know the fucking half of it.” Ron tugged his hand and Harry followed. “I found this during the restorations. Remember that day I appeared at home terrified of Mum's reaction, because I thought it must have been the middle of the night?”  
“Yeah, you scared the shit out of us all just because you were so convinced you'd been somewhere for hours.”  
“Well, I was. Somewhere, that is. And it's the strangest feeling to come out and know that the time you've spent is only really half or maybe even less. But it's brilliant. I don't know what it's going to do with two people – I've only been in it myself... oh, shit, I hope it doesn't lose the food! I didn't think of that!”  
  
Harry stopped and pulled Ron to a halt. “Will you just bloody tell me what you've found?”  
“I'll show you.” Ron's face lit up with a huge smile. Harry melted a bit inside. “Here.”  
  
He let himself be ushered behind what looked like a standard Hogwarts door, but when Ron shut it, the room was anything but a standard castle classroom or dormitory.  
  
“What the fuck?” He gasped.  
“Someone, once upon a time, liked views.” Ron let go of his hand and headed for the balcony.  
“Weird.”  
“What's weird?” Harry joined him.  
“Well when I was in here before, the view was different. I was looking at the sea, the sun was shining, it was warm outside... but now you're here, and we're in Hogwarts but we're _looking_ at Hogwarts from across the lake... must be up in the mountains.”  
“Why would it change?”  
“Because you're here. This must be something... I think the room shows you the view you want the most. Sometimes, my family have been on the beach, sometimes I've been alone... sometimes...”  
“Sometimes?” Harry asked.  
  
Ron swallowed and looked down at his feet. “And sometimes, you're on the beach with me. I'm watching myself with you. It's strange.”  
“So... how many times have you been here?”  
“Quite a few.”  
“And on the day you first found it, in the summer... what was happening on the beach?”  
  
Ron blushed. “I watched us for the first time. It was when I realised what the feelings I was experiencing around you meant. I thought I was just fucked up but then it became really clear just what it... meant. And then you started getting into my bed at night and I just thought... fuck.”  
  
He laughed then and turned away from the view.  
  
“So do you think it shows you what you want to see the most out of the window? Where you want to be? It's a bit like the Mirror, isn't it?”  
“Yeah, which I guess explains why this is buried so far up in the rafters that nobody knows about it.”  
“Did you do all this?” Harry asked suddenly, catching sight of the table near the open doors set with two chairs and laden with food.  
“I did the food, the room did the candles and the... uh, bollocks. The bed.”  
  
Harry hadn't even noticed the bed. It was large, sumptuous and looked supremely inviting.  
  
“That could be from either one of us,” he said finally.  
“Or both.” Ron sat down and picked a grape from a bunch on the table.  
“True. So... do you think the view shows the future?”  
“It can't,” Ron dismissed, pouring them both a drink from a large pitcher.  
“How do you know?”  
“Because Fred was on my beach.” His words were even and calm, but Harry didn't miss the pain on his face.  
  
They didn't talk much about Fred. Harry had tried, but Ron had tensely told him that if he needed to talk, he would let Harry know.  
  
“And he's definitely dead, so...” Ron sipped at the glass he held.  
“What's that?” Harry asked.  
“Wine, I think.” Ron handed over Harry's glass. “It's not bad.”  
  
Harry drank a mouthful. It was rich but pleasant.  
  
“We could get very drunk on that.”  
“And nobody will even miss us.” Ron smiled. “It's nice, isn't it?”  
“I'll say...” Harry wandered to the balcony again and leant on the stone top. “So does this mean I want to live in the mountains looking at the castle?”  
“Maybe. Maybe not. I have no idea and when I asked Dumbledore's portrait, he pretended not to know anything about the room or even ever having heard of it. Typical.”  
“He wouldn't say anything?”  
“Not a peep. Except the usual – don't cling to the imaginary, it's not good to dwell on dreams blah blah blah.”  
“That old chestnut.”  
  
Harry nearly dropped his wine as Ron pressed against him from behind. He set the glass on the thick stone lip of the balcony and stroked his hands over Ron's when they settled across his belly.  
  
He didn't want to mention it, for fear of being too mushy, but they seemed to fit together perfectly. Ron was tall enough to rest his against Harry's head and their bodies seemed to curve and fit together like a glove.  
  
Of course, he knew that from the few times Ron had turned over in bed and Harry had spooned into him from behind.  
  
“Wait,” Harry blurted suddenly. “It was getting dark outside the castle. But it's daylight again.”  
“It's not real,” Ron reminded him. He mouthed against the shell of Harry's ear in a kiss. “I've only seen the view change to night time once.”  
“Was it me then, too?”  
“Sometimes it's nobody.”  
“Oh.”  
  
A question blossomed on his tongue but he didn't want to ruin the mood with it. In any case, Ron seemed to be able to read his mind when he spoke.  
  
“I've never seen myself with Hermione here. She's on the beach with my family – always; but it's never just been me and her. Which is so wrong.”  
“Is it really that wrong?”  
  
Harry felt his spirits sink like a stone.  
  
“I don't know,” Ron answered truthfully. “I haven't got a fucking clue, Harry.”  
  
The redhead sighed and turned away. When Harry looked he was sitting back at the table sharing out food onto plates.  
  
“Come and eat,” he called. “You were hungry.”  
  
Harry went, feeling most odd as he sat down opposite Ron in such a formal setting.  
  
“Thank you,” he half-giggled, as Ron put some potatoes on his plate. Had the wine already gone to his head? “Did you see Dobb-” He froze.  
  
Sometimes, very occasionally, he forgot who had died in the battle. He had called George Fred, called Arthur Remus and fully expected Dobby to be working in the castle kitchens.  
  
“I looked for him,” Ron said, smoothing over the moment. “I always do.”  
  
Grateful to him, Harry drank some more wine to calm his nerves. Ron didn't speak again in favour of starting to eat and Harry decided he would follow suit. Their meal was simple – something which could be bundled up and taken somewhere: cold chicken, new potatoes, cheese and fruit. There was wine and water. Two small cakes sat to one side. They looked like they might contain treacle.  
  
“You did this for me,” he said, realising the thought aloud when he'd meant to keep it in.  
“Erm... yeah, I guess.” Ron shrugged. “I knew you'd be hungry and I thought it would be a good place for us to be... y'know. Properly alone. For the first time since we came back to Hogwarts.”  
“It's perfect.”  
  
They ate on, steadily clearing their way through the meal until nothing was left but the wine and the cake. Ron was sucking his forefinger clean with hollowed cheeks. Harry immediately felt hot under the collar. He couldn't tear his eyes away. He realised he was being played when Ron let his tongue show.  
  
“Bastard.” Harry smiled to himself and put down his knife and fork.  
“Well, they were a bit late if they had me out of wedlock, that's for sure.” Ron made a face. “But they got married because she was pregnant with Bill.”  
“Really, I didn't know that?”  
“Not something they broadcast, is it?” Ron wore a strange expression – almost bitter.  
  
Harry didn't push the discussion. He didn't like it when Ron looked like that. It took him back to their separation on the Horcrux hunt and the horrible things they'd flung at one another, and the even worse things he'd seen the locket torture Ron with. They'd been very Hermione-centric. He wondered where he sat in all of that misery.  
  
“Ron.”  
“Mm?”  
“Last year in the Forest of Dean. With the locket.”  
  
Ron visibly stiffened.  
  
“You were pretty set on Hermione then.”  
“I know.”  
“So... where do I...?” He gesticulated a bit. It made him feel better.  
“Who was she kissing?” Ron asked.  
“Eh?”  
“Who was she kissing? You were in that... that thing, too. And though she did all the talking, I know that there were a lot of... it wasn't just about her. It was about you, preferring her friendship over mine... wanting to love her but not being able to... to love me.”  
  
Ron looked distinctly nauseous and Harry suddenly was overcome with shame for making him talk about it.  
  
“I shouldn't have asked,” he said apologetically. “I know that it was... that it was hard.”  
“Hard? Voldemort might as well have ripped my guts out and let you stamp on them.”  
  
Harry stared at him, firstly because of the fact he'd said Voldemort's name out loud and secondly because Ron had been honest in his reply. It was something else they hadn't discussed.  
  
“I'm over it,” Ron promised him. “The 'am-I-good-enough' shit. I promise.”  
“But you still haven't answered my question... where I fit into everything.”  
“Because I haven't got a fucking clue, you numpty.” Ron shook his head. “No clue. I'm drowning here Harry. All I know is that you've made me feel so...” He shrugged again.  
  
Harry could see he was struggling, and realised the ache in his chest was there because he didn't want Ron to ever struggle because of him.  
  
“Okay. This isn't helping,” he said decisively.  
  
He picked up his wine glass and mooched over to the bed, where he sat down. He stroked the expensive bedspread and patted it. “C'mere.”  
  
Ron scoffed slightly but did pick up his wine and sat down next to Harry. They were shoulder to shoulder and Harry nudged him gently. When Ron didn't respond he nudged again, and again until Ron broke into laughter and Harry shoved him off balance. In fighting to save his wine, Ron landed on the many pillows and his school shirt came untucked. The furry, freckled expanse of his flat belly became visible.  
  
Harry felt drawn to it immediately. He leant forward and pressed his mouth just south of Ron's belly button. He smelt _delicious._ Unable to help himself he blew a raspberry on the warm skin and waited for Ron's reaction, which was to snort and chuckle. Harry blew another and tickled up under the shirt. More laughter followed and then, without a single word, Harry was on top of him. He banished the wine with a quick wave of his wand and didn't care where it ended up.  
  
There was something new in the pit of his stomach. Something which he'd only really felt a few times before in his life.  
  
“Oh shit...” Ron moaned, wrapping his arms around Harry's back and yanking him down so that they were pressed together. “Harry.”  
  
He'd heard Ron say his name many times before, but there was something lustful in Ron's voice which made him giddy.  
  
They were kissing with absolutely no precision – Harry's kisses before had been delicate compared to what they were doing. He squeezed Ron's hands – at some point their fingers had laced together – until he felt pain in his wrists. He pressed them into the pillows on either side of Ron's head. He rolled his hips and found they were both hard.  
  
“I don't think this is going to help,” Ron moaned.  
“Yes, yes it is.” Harry tried a soothing approach. “It's going to make it so much better, Ron. I want you...”  
“How much?” Ron asked playfully.  
“So fucking much, you bastard.”  
“So can we...”  
“Can we what?”  
“You know what.”  
“I'm not sure I'm... I-I don't think I know...”  
  
Harry would never say it, but Ron's flushed cheeks and stammering was adorable.  
  
“Hey.” He caught Ron's eye. “It's okay. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to.”  
“I don't not want to do anything. I just don't know what I do want? Oh, fuck this is shit.”  
  
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Harry enjoyed the fact that he rose up as the air inflated his friend's lungs beneath him. They were so close he thought Ron might hear his heart hammering away.  
  
“Let's not waste...” Harry experimentally ground against Ron's body. “This. Fuck that feels good.”  
“So good.”  
  
Harry ran his hands up under Ron's shirt and stroked his chest. He found his nipples and gave them a gentle pinch and then a not-so-gentle pinch when Ron moaned in the affirmative. He had the strongest urge to undo the shirt and suck on one of those nipples, which he knew from sharing a dormitory for years were a dusky shade of pink.  
  
His fingers were undoing the buttons before he thought to ask Ron if it was okay.  
  
“D'you mind if I...?”  
“Have at it,” Ron murmured. “What are you- ohhh.”  
  
Harry flicked his tongue against the nub in his mouth. He released it and then kissed up over Ron's collarbone to his throat.  
  
Ron was suddenly clinging to him. There was something frantic in the way their rutting stepped up a notch.  
  
“Fuck.”  
“Yes!”  
  
He was very glad to have somewhere to hide his face as Ron came against him. Listening to the tiny, sexy mewls Ron was putting out pushed Harry towards his own completion – the hand which hitched up his robes and squeezed his backside shoved him over the edge.  
  
Chest heaving as though he'd climbed half the castle again, Harry relaxed properly on top of Ron when he'd finished. As usual, Ron was warm and welcoming. Coming down from their respective highs together seemed like the most intimate thing they'd shared.  
  
Ron reached up and sank his fingers into Harry's hair and began to stroke his scalp. Harry had to stop himself from starting to purr.  
  
“Permission to say something crude and inappropriate?” Ron whispered.  
“Granted.”  
“'Look ma, no hands!'”  
  
Harry burst out laughing so hard that he managed to spit on Ron in the process. Ron wiped it off his face like it was nothing and grinned at Harry.  
  
“Nicely done sir.”  
“Ooh, I like that. Sir. Hmm. There's an idea.”  
  
Harry levered up and raised his eyebrows at his best friend.  
  
The thought of sex with Ron alone was exciting. The thought of filthy sex with Ron was _thrilling._  
  
“Noted,” Ron said, giving him a wink.  
  
Harry laughed and laid back down. On the balcony outside the sky was still light. He watched a bird soar past, playing in the high winds coming off the lake. He saw their abandoned wine glasses sitting safely back on the table.  
  
Ron's breathing had finally evened out again and he wrapped both arms around Harry.  
  
“That was the last clean pair of pants I had,” Ron whispered, deadly serious, right into Harry's ear.  
  
Again Harry found himself laughing loudly. Ron was chuckling with him.  
  
“This is so... good.” Harry closed his eyes on his inadequate vocabulary. “Being here like this. Alone.”  
“I know. I could get used to it.”  
“Do you really think your family would ever let us be alone if we made a go of this?”  
“They will if I tell them to fuck off.”  
“Would you do that?” Harry found he was afraid of the answer.  
“I would if it meant making my life with you viable.”  
“Really?” Harry couldn't help but pull up again. “But you... your family. They mean the world to you. And me.”  
“I know, Harry, but there comes a point where someone else becomes everything. At least that's the way I see it. Family is always important, but someone else takes over as your priority eventually...”  
“And you'd like me to be a priority of yours?”  
  
Ron hesitated before answering. “You already are, Harry.”  
“I know. But...”  
“Can we just leave it at that for now? We've had a great time. I want you to get up and get those cakes and more wine and then I want to sit here with you and look at the view.”  
  
Harry sighed and nodded his head in agreement.  
  
“I guess at least we've both seen that we find the other sexy enough to get off. And that being alone together like this is... kinda great.”  
“Mm-hm.”  
  
Smiling, Harry got to his feet and clambered off the bed to get the cake and wine as instructed.  
  
“You think I'm sexy, eh?” Ron had stretched out on the bed with one hand tucked under his head. He looked exquisite. “Good to know.”  
“Don't let it go to your head,” Harry advised.  
“Godric forbid I should have anything resembling an ego,” Ron retorted.  
“I like you modest.”  
“Modest or mediocre?”  
“That's a big word for you – where did you hear that?”  
  
Harry laughed as one of the pillows from the bed hit him square in the back.  
  
“No cake for you.”  
“Don't make me cry, Harry. Nobody needs to see that.”  
“I've already seen you cry, so no big deal.”  
“Don't remind me. I'll have to kill you.”  
“I liked it.”  
  
Harry made a face. He hadn't quite meant it like that.  
  
“I mean... I liked that you were open with me.”  
“Didn't have much choice mate, what with the locket airing my dirty pants to the entire Forest.”  
“I think there were a few squirrels in the back that couldn't hear.”  
  
He walked back to the bed carefully balancing the wine glasses and the cakes. Ron gratefully accepted his and sat up.  
  
They both munched for a while in silence.  
  
Harry was suddenly tired and let out a long yawn.  
  
“Fancy some kip?” Ron asked airily.  
“Fuck yes.” Harry knocked back the last of his wine and then laid down on the bed. Ron followed.  
“We're the wrong way round.” He frowned.  
“No. My turn. You've made me feel safe every night for the past few months. Let me have my go at giving you the same.”  
  
Ron blinked once but then laid back down and turned into Harry's side. It felt odd for their positions to be reversed, but good. He put one hand in Ron's hair and enjoyed the feel of the silk around his fingers.  
  
He could most definitely get used to it.  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
